


Little Weasel: Baseball Superstar

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Writers Month: August 2019 [7]
Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Baseball, Developing Relationship, Dreams, FBI Agent, Family Drama, Kissing, M/M, Moving Out, Secrets, Starting a new life, Video, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 03:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: “Now this is what I call interesting. Baby Kola. Toddling around Kola. Crazed hormonal, irrational FBI training Kola. This box is a real gem, Raymond.” Walter teased.Writersmonth Day 7 Prompt:Sports





	Little Weasel: Baseball Superstar

“Hey hey, what the hell is all of this crap?”

They were both at Ray’s old apartment, on a rainy day in Washington DC. Since Ray was no longer the new hotshot FBI guy (or an FBI guy at all for that matter) he had decided that he indeed wanted to listen to the wind and to find himself. Be at home with his people. Walter, and his people. Ray, and his people.

Ray had produced a very long and very confusing list of what to take with him and what to leave behind. More often that not each luxury Walter encountered was to be left here, to collect dust until Ray found the time to sell his things. Which bored Walter some but in reality, these fancy television sets, record players and whatever the hell else Ray owned weren’t what Ray needed. Walter was who Ray needed.

Ray needed some stability, some grounding. Some answers for once in his goddamn life.

Walter helped shift the odd box when a smirk graced his lips.

He turned to Ray who strutted over, chewing irritably, who took the box from Walter. He pouted, carefully tearing away at the tape. He put the box down and pried it open.

“Now this is what I call _interesting_. Baby Kola. Toddling around Kola. Crazed hormonal, irrational FBI training Kola. This box is a real gem, Raymond.” He teased.

Walter swatted Ray’s hands away and he dived in. The box was full of old video tapes and cassettes.

“No wonder the damn thing was so heavy.” Ray ground out. “Walter don’t. _Don’t_. Put that down.”

Walter didn’t listen. He was halfway jamming the thing into the cassette player on the other side of the room. How he had moved so fast was beyond Ray, in that moment.

He just watched as Walter circled the sofa, plonked himself down upon it, hands behind his head, feet up on the table.

“Shit. Where’s the damn remote?” He asked.

It was on Ray’s coffee table, next to some neatly stacked magazines, a pen and a notepad.

Both men eyed it. Ray sprinted, jumped over the sofa and slid forward only to have Walter simply remove his feet and sit up. Walter already had the remote in hand.

“_Fuck_.” Ray spat. He left Walter to his tapes. 

* * *

“_Little Weasel plays baseball_.” He chuckled. “The hell is this, Ray? You’re actually pretty good.”

On screen Ray had just hit a home run; he ran from base to base. Towards third he slowed down his pace, by fourth he was practically walking. Walter absorbed the sounds of the crowd’s laughter and still, they applauded Ray.

It took another minute or two for the ball to be returned, long after Ray had gained his team the point.

“You’re lookin’ _adorable_ in that little outfit, Raymond.” Walter teased, having resumed his ‘I’ve found myself the distraction, you keep working’ routine. “How old were you here?”

Ray walked over to the screen. He squinted.

“Not sure which game it is.. fifteen, sixteen.”

“Aww.. weren’t you just the _cutest_.” He was laughing at the irritation that radiated from Ray’s stance, his face.

Ray seethed. He was rolling around his words. Walter could practically see him calculating his retorts and knew what his go-to lines would be. Walter didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“The hell happened to your baseball alter-ego anyway?”

Ray shrugged.

“It just wasn’t for me okay, now can you take the damn thing out. We have more boxes to shift.”

Walter narrowed his eyes.

“Such a shitty liar. Something happened. You lost your confidence, the need to play. You can tell me Ray, I.. probably won’t laugh.”

Ray was silent for a minute or two. He was pacing, back and fourth.

“Fuck it.” Walter upped and removed the video tape. He handed it to Ray who smiled, some. “You don’t have to—“

“—It was uh, one of the things I did with.. my.. for a couple years. After he.. passed.. I kept playing but there was just _something_.. that wasn’t the same. I wanted to get out and then I wrecked my knee. That was the final straw.”

Walter listened. He watched as Ray’s eyes darted about the room, how he had clasped his hands and kept shifting as he spoke.

“Then I realised that I was done. Maybe I.. could’ve gotten somewhere but.. I much preferred getting into a serious career and uh..” Ray trailed off. Walter didn’t ask.

Walter just leant in, letting his lips press slowly to Ray’s who parted for him. It was over too quick, and Ray followed Walter as he broke away, with a small smile.

Ray grinned, he looked a little sheepish with a blush coating his chiselled cheeks.

“Don’t matter Kola, it really don’t. And hell, if you’d become the next uh.. big shot baseball _stud_, we wouldn’t have met.” He winked. Ray laughed.

“True, true.”

“Although I’mma say, that little ass of yours did fill out those shorts mighty fine.” He winked again, Ray blushed deeper. “Still got ‘em? They fit?”

Ray’s eyes widened. He cast a quick glance to some more stacked boxes which didn’t go unnoticed.

He turned back to Walter who grinned. He practically sprinted over to the pile and scanned the boxes. The one with “_Baseball days_” stood out like a damn deer in the headlights.

Within moments Walter had brandished a thin pair of worn out shorts. He flung them over to Ray, who caught them with one hand.

“Care to model ‘em for me?”

Ray blushed deeper.

“I’ll move another box.”

Ray pursed his lips.

“I’ll move _two_ of your boxes.”

Ray scowled.

Walter relented. “I’ll move the rest of your damn boxes _after_, and only after, I get my private show.”

“Deal.”


End file.
